


The Rage of Reason Closing In

by dreamlittleyo



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Logic, M/M, Not Happy, Obsession, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Wordcount: Over 1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 21:48:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Spock is emotionally compromised and nothing goes the way it should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rage of Reason Closing In

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Porn Battle XIV](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/526639.html). Prompts: Confusion, Temptation, Logic.
> 
> Translated into Russian: **[HERE](http://ancksu-namun.livejournal.com/5637.html)**

Jim Kirk defies reason.

It's a reality that confronts Spock at every turn, a truth he felt even before they met face to face. Kirk is a contradiction from the very first: a mind brilliant enough to undermine the precise programming of the Kobayashi Maru, but wild and undisciplined and willing to cheat the clear parameters of the test.

Spock may have come to trust and respect his new captain—trial by fire, he believes the saying goes—but his original thesis stands. Kirk is a walking, breathing contradiction. Reason and logic twist impossibly around him, and every time he should fail, stubborn ingenuity pulls him through instead.

Perhaps, within the restless brilliance of Jim Kirk's mind, there is simply no need for the constraints of mortal logic. 

Perhaps that is what makes him so dangerously fascinating.

The quick-turning pace of Spock's thoughts abruptly pauses. He reviews, retraces, wonders why some part of his mind might consider his fascination dangerous. It's only natural for Spock to be fascinated by the puzzle his captain presents. He worries at the thought, determined to understand. Spock is accustomed to comprehending his own mind, and he does not intend to leave such an uncertainty unresolved.

Comprehension unfolds at last, surprising him.

Kirk is dangerous because he is a distraction. Spock is not merely fascinated by him. He thinks about Kirk with alarming frequency, watches far more closely than he should. He finds himself attuned to the most minute shifts in Kirk's expression. Spock's focus slips further inward as he tries to decipher how long this has been the case, tracing the contours of their friendship over nearly two years.

This problem isn't recent, he realizes with renewed surprise. Some seven months have passed in this unnoticed state of distraction, leaving Spock with a less pleasant question to contend with: how has he failed to notice?

"Are you all right?" Uhura, her low voice meant only for his ears. She sits across the table from him, appearing at ease in the uncomfortable rec room chair, but her expression is one of curious concern.

She ended things between them eleven months, two weeks and three days ago. She said neither of them could afford to emotionally compromise the other when so many lives constantly depend on them. She was right. Spock wonders if he might have convinced her otherwise somehow, but the point is moot. He didn't try.

"I am thinking," he says, not intending to clarify. 

Uhura nods and doesn't press for more.

\- — - — - — - — - — -

  
It's not until hours later, when he's alone in his quarters, that Spock asks himself what he feels. Kirk is his captain, and his friend, but for the first time Spock looks harder and wonders if there's something more.

 _What_ more he doesn't know, and ultimately his query falls unsatisfied. He has insufficient data.

His father would be ashamed of him for wasting energy on a quandary as illogical (emotional) as this. Or perhaps he wouldn't. Spock reconsiders. Sarek has changed since Vulcan. How could he not? Spock himself still feels the cracks and ripples of unfathomable loss when he lets his mind linger on Vulcan. 

Perhaps Sarek would simply, silently understand.

\- — - — - — - — - — -

  
In temporary command, holding the Enterprise in orbit around an unstable world, Spock thinks his captain dead for six hours, fourteen minutes and twenty-nine seconds.

In that time, Spock is cold, and efficient, and sharply logical. He does what he has to, to protect the crew and the inhabitants of the planet below. He is unmoved by McCoy's accusations, delivered in a brief moment alone. He recognizes the doctor's wrath for the desperate shield it is.

Spock does not rise to McCoy's baiting attack.

Emotion is a liability. There are lives at stake. Spock informs the doctor of this simple reality. McCoy in return calls him a cold-hearted, green-blooded monster devoid of feeling.

When Checkov detects Kirk's vital signs on the surface—when Kirk has been teleported aboard and hurried to sickbay, confirmed stable minutes later—Spock has all the data he needs to decipher his feelings for Kirk.

He refuses to put a name to the revelation. He can't afford this weakness a second time.

He cannot be in love.

\- — - — - — - — - — -

  
"Jesus, Spock, what's wrong?" Kirk's voice startles him—he hadn't realized he was no longer alone in the turbolift. It's an unimaginable lapse. It won't happen again.

"Wrong?" he hedges.

"You look like you just swallowed a bug."

"I was not aware I had any particular expression on my face, Captain." He knows, in fact, that he didn't. His face would never betray him; it obeys his commands far better than his mind of late. But Kirk has seen below the surface, and Spock finds himself disturbed at the thought of anyone besides Nyota reading him so well. That the man in question is Jim Kirk only increases Spock's consternation.

He doesn't tell Kirk that nothing is wrong. Spock is not in the practice of casual lying, and certainly not to his captain.

"I am endeavoring to solve a puzzle," he says simply.

"The fun kind or the not-fun kind?" Concern fades, leaving an easy, almost fond expression on Kirk's face.

"The difficult kind."

"Yeah. _That_ answers my question not even a little." Kirk glowers, but there's no heat to it. Spock lets a single corner of his mouth quirk up the barest degree. His own ability to find this man both brilliant and exasperating in the same moment has not ceased to impress him.

But Spock has no intention of elaborating, and he exits the turbolift at deck six.

\- — - — - — - — - — -

  
On Omicron Ceti III, he kisses Kirk. It is impulsive and foolish and, at the time, seems the only reasonable thing to do.

Kirk looks shocked first, thrilled second. He doesn't have time for a third expression before Spock is kissing him again, shoving Kirk back against the rough bark of a gnarled tree—not caring that there are witnesses, not caring about anything but the way Kirk yields to every touch.

It doesn't occur to him that he _should_ care, that something is enormously wrong. It will be terrifying when he thinks back on this later—the losing of his reason, the losing of _self_ to such base emotions. 

It's only a kiss, but damning just the same. 

He can blame the spores—they all can, the entire crew—but Spock is fully aware of his own culpability. He did nothing he hasn't thought about dozens, perhaps hundreds of times.

"I offer my sincerest apologies," Spock says, long after his report has been filed and Omicron Ceti III is behind them. He is stiff formality, hands behind his back. Alone with Kirk, Spock's head is full of ideas he has no intention of acting on. He is back in possession of his faculties.

"Okay, apologizing? _Really_ not necessary, Spock. We were all pretty messed up down there. I almost abandoned my ship for god's sake. What's a tiny breach of decorum in the big scheme of things?"

But Spock does need to apologize. Not just for his behavior on the planet, but for thinking, for _feeling_ the way he does. This isn't a fascination any longer; it's a full-fledged obsession.

"Jim," he says. There's no plea in his voice, but Kirk's face softens anyway. He can't understand, but maybe that doesn't matter.

"All right," Kirk concedes, though he's clearly not happy about it. "Apology accepted."

"Thank you."

\- — - — - — - — - — -

  
Uhura wasn't witness to Spock's actions on Omicron Ceti III, but given the speed of rumor aboard the Enterprise she certainly knows.

She doesn't say anything. No questions, no accusations, no expressions of concern. But she hovers closer, watches him carefully. His feelings are no secret from her.

Kirk watches him, too. Captain and first officer circle each other in an ever-shrinking orbit. Spock admonishes himself not to touch. It's not simply a question of propriety; it's terror at the strength of feeling in his chest.

He cannot have Jim Kirk; he will break apart if he doesn't.

"Enough," Kirk says, ambushing Spock outside engineering. The red alert claxons have been silent for three-point-five minutes, and the Enterprise is once again alone in the sky. Scotty is already directing repairs on the damage earned in a pointless skirmish.

"Captain?" Spock arches one eyebrow, but Kirk is determined.

"I don't care where, and I don't care how, but we are having this out _now_."

They end up in Kirk's quarters, despite the fact that Spock is the one leading the way. Kirk fits perfectly into this space, but he's obviously ill at ease. He crosses his arms, impatient.

"Talk to me, Spock."

"I find myself at a loss, Captain," Spock confesses truthfully. He's on edge, logic frayed with frustration, emotions carrying far more sway than they should.

Spock should be in control. He should be master of himself. 

He is not.

"We're fucked up, aren't we?" Kirk asks, and Spock remains silent. Kirk uncrosses his arms and rubs at the back of his neck. "Is this my fault? Did I do something wrong? Because if I crossed a line somewhere... If I did something to make you uncomfortable..." Kirk's expression is tense and wretched; he's on the verge of an apology when he hasn't quite worked out what he should be apologizing for.

Spock can't abide that look. He crosses the cramped cabin and sets a hand on Kirk's arm—murmurs his name more softly than he means to—and realizes too late that he's made a tactical error.

Because now he's _touching_ Kirk, and something bright and greedy snaps tight in his chest.

He drops his hand to his side, fully intending to back away and master his suddenly racing pulse. But his legs defy his commands. His feet stay planted firmly in place. Retreat is a physical impossibility.

"Spock—" Kirk reaches for him, concerned, but Spock intercepts and wraps strong fingers around Kirk's wrist. Kirk instantly stills, but there's a strange look in his eyes—a lost sort of intensity—and his pulse quickens fiercely beneath Spock's touch. 

The fabric of Kirk's sleeve bunches in Spock's hold, but there's also bare skin beneath his fingers, and with that contact the tantalizing hint of Kirk's mind within reach.

Spock shies away, guilty at the very idea. To force his way into Kirk's mind uninvited, to take advantage of his captain in such a way—

Spock is stronger than that. There are lines he will not cross.

But Kirk's balance shifts, body gravitating almost imperceptibly closer, and Spock realizes there are other temptations he is simply not strong enough to resist. 

"I should leave," he says in a tight voice.

"Why?" Kirk asks in a similarly cautious tone. His posture is tense, but he makes no attempt to pull his wrist from Spock's grasp. He seems equally uncertain, and for the first time Spock allows himself to consider the possibility that his interest may be reciprocated. Kirk's face is flushed, his pupils dilating before Spock's eyes, his heartrate still rushing as he makes no attempt to disengage and distance himself.

Spock is not a 'gambling man', as he has heard McCoy phrase it. He prefers knowing the precise odds before taking any action. Statistical probability is no guaranty of success, but it is certainly a useful tool in calculating one's course.

When Spock kisses Kirk, he cannot predict the probable outcome of his actions. He moves on simple instinct, and tells himself the quiet, cavernous pulse in his chest is anything but fear.

The moment is impossible stillness, stretching taut. Kirk's mouth freezes beneath Spock's. Rejection seems more and more likely.

Then Kirk makes a low, needy sound and reaches for Spock with his free hand. Kirk's fingers card through Spock's hair and he leans into the kiss, parting his lips wider, inviting the possessive sweep of Spock's tongue.

Spock releases Kirk's wrist and wraps his arms around his captain, crushing him close. Despite his best efforts to calm himself, the kiss turns rough, fierce claim, as Kirk cedes control and Spock takes command of the kiss.

He is frantic. He is beyond himself. In that moment he is not Vulcan; he is raw need. Whatever Jim offers he will take. In that moment, Spock is incapable of considering consequences.

\- — - — - — - — - — -

  
Kirk out of uniform is much the same as he is in command: intense, determined, fiercely focused. But he is also arching, moaning heat beneath Spock's hands; his head is thrown back, his lips parted on breathless sounds of pleasure.

There's something impatient in the stutter of his hips, the press of his hands at the small of Spock's back. He is pure temptation beneath Spock, and Spock does not resist the wordless plea in his eyes when their gazes lock.

He thrusts in hard, fascinated by the response that shatters across Kirk's face. Kirk cries out, clinging tightly to Spock as his hips rise to meet the harsh thrust, taking him deep and holding him close. Spock drops forward and groans into Kirk's shoulder, overwhelmed. He cannot help now the way his mind reaches out, greedy for contact. Not quite a mind meld—nothing so precise or invasive as that—but an intimacy beyond the physical.

Spock draws his hips back, thrusts again, jostles Kirk roughly and presses him into the mattress.

He is not gentle. Perhaps he could have been if they had done this sooner. Some measure of control might have remained to him then.

Impossible, he realizes. They would not be here at all if Spock were in control of himself. He thrusts again, hard and deep. Kirk's legs wrap around him, ankles locking at the small of Spock's back, urging him on.

Spock speeds his pace. He curls one hand around Kirk's hip for leverage, heedless of the bruises he's pressing into vulnerable skin.

He kisses Kirk, but it's rough and uncoordinated. He doesn't slow his pace as he claims Kirk's mouth.

They reach orgasm together, with wordless cries. Spock buries his face against Kirk's throat and loses himself in the white-hot rush of sensation.

\- — - — - — - — - — -

  
They don't linger in Kirk's bed. Spock knows such indulgence would be unforgivable, considering what must inevitably come next.

They're both clothed—Spock in uniform, Kirk in black civilian dress—and though they sit side-by-side, Spock senses the enormity of the gulf settling between them.

A short, awkward sofa takes up an entire wall of Kirk's small quarters. This is where they sit, arms touching from shoulder to elbow. They wear matching poses, leaning forward, elbows braced on knees. Spock's hands are tightly clasped, and he considers his words for a long time.

"This cannot happen again." His voice is even and calm, despite the chaos of his thoughts. He has found his control, and he has no intention of misplacing it again.

"Because I'm the captain," Kirk posits in a measured tone. Spock knows him well enough to read beneath the mask, to read the muted swell of guilt Jim does not want him to see.

"No," Spock says. "That is not the reason." If propriety and the chain of command were sufficient reason to ignore his heart, he would never have become involved with Nyota, a cadet and student. Sometimes there are more important data to consider.

"Then why?" Kirk has dropped some of the blank veneer. He sounds genuinely perplexed now. Spock turns and finds Kirk watching him with wary eyes, and wishes he didn't have to explain. He does not like conceding weakness.

But Spock started this. Complicity doesn't put Spock's actions on Kirk's shoulders, captain or not, and so Spock will explain. It takes him a moment to gather his purpose, but at last he speaks.

"You diminish my ability to think clearly. I find you distracting."

"You mean I emotionally compromise you," Kirk says in a tone full of painful irony.

Spock inclines his head in agreement. Kirk turns away and stares at the wall.

"On a scale from zero to completely fucked," Kirk murmurs, "how big a mistake did we just make?"

"The scope is immaterial," Spock says, because he doesn't know how to answer the question directly. "What matters is how we proceed from here. Things cannot continue as they have been. I will not endanger this crew by allowing personal feelings to cloud my judgment."

Kirk is silent for several seconds before he says, in a surprisingly soft voice, "This is why you and Uhura broke up, isn't it. Same story, different page."

Spock doesn't answer. It's clear from his tone that Kirk knows he's right; there's no need to confirm a point so obvious.

"Do you intend to leave the Enterprise?" Kirk asks, and it doesn't matter how convincing his poker face is. There's no masking how abhorrent he finds the idea.

"No," Spock says, and Kirk's posture instantly eases. "I belong at your side. I must simply learn to modulate my response to you." He's done it before; he can do it now, for Kirk, if it's the only way he can stay. 

"I am sorry, Captain," Spock murmurs. For his conduct. For his inability to make things right. 

Another silence, heavy and taut between them. Ten seconds. Thirty. A full minute. Then Kirk turns to him and forces a smile.

"How many times do I have to tell you? Call me Jim."

It's a concession—an acceptance of Spock's terms. An olive branch, which Spock wordlessly accepts. 

After Spock leaves the captain's quarters, they will never discuss this again.

\- — - — - — - — - — -

  
Spock finds Uhura in recreation room three. He can see, in the instant her eyes find him, that she knows.

She uses her foot to push out the chair across from her, and Spock accepts the offered seat. She plays chess with him and smiles when he wins. She talks about duty rosters and the hydroponics bay and a dozen other things that should interest him.

She doesn't ask if he's all right, and Spock will never tell her how grateful he is.


End file.
